Wolves in general seemed to hate coyotes, but as far as Tsrmono knew, they couldn't tell the difference between coyotes and jackals. It was a giant difference for Tsrmono, and he never let anyone forget it. They were so hell bent on hating coyotes that they often mistook the jackal for one, and he so then hated all who mistook him for his similar cousins. He didn't hate the coyotes, but more the wolves and anyone who was wrong in their assumptions.
As Tsrmono wandered into a nearby pack territory, the smell of burning was apparent. He looked ahead, and saw charred land spread around. The soil crunched under his feet and he walked across the barren field. He had no idea who caused this fire, but he could tell this was caused not by nature, but by the hand of an entity. He leaned his head closer to the ground, but all he could smell was the fire. Scents were driven out by the fire. It seemed that the only way to find out who is around is for them to meet him, face to face.